Bridge to Haven (46 page)

He watched people walk by, some looking upbeat and successful, others hungry-eyed, a few downtrodden. An attractive girl in a short skirt and fitted top stood across the street, a large purse slung over her shoulder. She flirted with men as they passed by. Joshua thought of Abra, thankful she had had a measure of success and wasn’t on the streets trying to make a living.

Dad’s voice came on the line.

“Hey, Dad. How’re things up in Haven?”

“It’s been a busy week. Dinner with Gil and Sadie. Mitzi’s in the hospital and has the nurses in hysterics.”

“Anything serious?”

“Trouble with her lungs. She promised Hodge she’d give up smoking. He thought she already had.”

“How’s Susan?” He meant it to be a leading question.

“Susan and Bessie are just fine,” Dad responded in a deadpan tone, and then chuckled. “They both said to say hello. How’s the project going?”

“We’ll be done by the end of the week. Harold has Kathy helping him put together an open house to celebrate the completion. Charlie wants me to join his company. He’s got a couple of projects coming up. He wants me to head up a renovation project in Pacific Palisades.”

“You like working with him, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I do.” The operator prompted him to put in more coins. “Hold on. . . . Yeah, Charlie’s honest, works as hard as anyone he hires, wants everything as perfect as we can make it. He’s a good man—and a brother. We’ve had some deep conversations.” He hesitated, waiting for a comment from Dad. Silence. “You still there?”

“I’m listening. Have you made a decision?”

“I’m not sure I want to stay another six months, and that’s what it’ll take to complete the project he wants me on.” He watched the girl across the street negotiating with a businessman. “I had lunch today with Dave at Chuck’s Hofbrau on Hollywood Boulevard. Good food, but it lacks Bessie’s homey touch.”

“What’s on your mind, Son?”

“There are a lot of beautiful young women down here, Dad.”

“All with big dreams of becoming movie stars, I imagine.” His father sounded weary.

They were both silent. The man in the suit hailed a taxi. The girl got in with him.

“I’m still looking for her. I called the studio connected with her last picture and got nowhere. I went by there, but they wouldn’t give
me the time of day, let alone tell me how to get in touch with her. A hundred other guys must say they knew her when.”

“Have you talked to Dave about it?”

“No. Every time I’m ready to, something else comes up. Dave has a lot on his mind. I’ve written to the film companies that produced the films she was in. I hoped at least one would forward the letter. Then she’d know how to get in touch with me. It’s been a couple of months and no response.”

“She may get a lot of fan mail.”

“And she may not be the one reading what she gets. I keep hoping whoever does open one of those letters will pass it along to her. Charlie said the quickest way to track down an actress is through her agent, but the studios weren’t forthcoming with that information.” He gave a bleak laugh. “I must’ve sounded like a crazy fan.”

“So, what do you plan to do?”

“I don’t know, Dad. I’m still praying about it.”

Joshua looked into the faces of the young women passing by, knowing Abra wouldn’t be strolling casually down a street where she might be recognized. She’d only had a few roles, but she’d managed to make Lena Scott a rising star. Maybe this was the life she wanted. Maybe Lena Scott didn’t want to be reminded of Haven and the people who loved Abra Matthews.

Maybe it was time to stop looking.

“I think you know what God wants, Son.”

The answer God had given Joshua wasn’t the one he wanted to hear.

Let go.

The bridge to Haven stood before Abra. She walked onto it and stopped a few feet in. Leaning over the railing, she looked down into
the darkness. Someone called out to her from the other side. “Come across. Now. While you can.”

Was it Joshua? She took a few steps toward him and stopped, the sound of the rapids rising. A mist came up from beneath her, surrounding her in fog so dense she couldn’t see the end of the bridge.

She called out, “Are you still there?” Her voice came back, an echo.

“I’m here.” Not Joshua, but Pastor Zeke’s voice.

She stepped back, not wanting to face him, and heard footsteps coming toward her. Her heart slowed its frantic beat when she heard a man singing, but then it quickened in fear when the sound changed from a sweet melody to discordant mockery.

Dylan came out of the fog. She felt paralyzed as he walked slowly toward her. Her heart beat faster the closer he came, until he stopped right in front of her. His dark eyes glittered hot as he smiled his bright-white smile. “Where are you going to run now, little girl?”

Abra awakened abruptly, heart pounding, body drenched in perspiration. She sat up in bed, trembling. It took a few moments for her body to relax and her heart rate and breathing to slow.

The apartment was so quiet. Had Franklin finally left her alone? He hadn’t gone out in days, staying close, watching her like a hawk. What did he think she’d do? Commit suicide? Not that she hadn’t thought about it. But she was too much a coward to execute herself. Better this prison with Franklin holding the keys. Better this hell than the one in the next world where she’d burn for all eternity.

She wasn’t making it easy for him. She wanted Franklin to suffer, too. She wanted him to know what his dream had cost her.

Forgive.
The word stroked her mind like an unwelcome brush of gentle, healing fingers on her brow. She raked her fingers into her hair, holding her head, wanting to press it out. Forgive? Neither of them deserved it.

Maybe she could have forgiven Franklin if he had called her Abra instead of Lena when he cried and begged for forgiveness. When
they’d made it home from the horror, he’d called one of the most expensive restaurants in Hollywood and ordered a meal delivered, along with champagne, no expenses spared. He’d popped the cork and said they’d start fresh. As if she’d ever forget.

She’d been too sick to eat or drink. While she sat silent, Franklin talked as though she had been a willing participant, as though a small problem had been dealt with and now they could move forward. She wondered if he’d lost his mind somewhere along the drive back.

Abra thrust Lena aside that night and took center stage. “If you think
anything
will
ever
be the same, you’re crazy!” He’d stared at her as though she were some alien being who had taken possession of his lover. She went to the pastel bedroom and locked the door.

Over the next few days, Franklin ordered so many flowers, the apartment felt like a funeral home.

Now, famished, Abra pulled on a robe and quietly opened her door. She felt light-headed from not eating for days. She leaned against the wall until the black and yellow spots before her eyes receded. Dread filled her when she saw Franklin sprawled on the couch, pale and unshaven.

Surprised, he pushed himself into a sitting position. His blue eyes lit with hope. “You’re up.” He looked disheveled, but alert, watchful, cautious. Maybe he was afraid she’d go crazy right along with him. Trying to ignore him, Abra went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Bottles of red and white wine and cartons of take-out food filled the shelves. “Mexican, Chinese, Italian—take your pick.” Franklin had followed her. He stood with hands shoved into his pockets, watching her closely, assessing.

She opened a carton of congealed Chinese noodles and lost her appetite. She opened the cabinet under the sink and threw it into the trash.

“You have to eat something, Lena.” Franklin looked worse than she felt. “You’ve lost weight.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” She felt a twinge of guilt, seeing her thrust had struck hard and sunk deep. He had dark patches under his eyes. How long since he’d slept? How much had he been drinking since she locked herself away? She didn’t want to care. They both deserved to suffer. She went to the bar and poured herself a shot glass of Scotch.

“Do you remember what happened last time you drank on an empty stomach?” His tone was cool, dry, testing.

“Yes. But what does it matter?” She swallowed the Scotch in one gulp. Grimacing at him, she poured another. “I’ve always wondered how you can stand to drink this stuff.” She downed that as well.

“It relaxes me.”

The Scotch pooled like hot lava in her empty stomach. “I don’t want to relax. I want to forget.” She lifted the bottle to her lips.

Franklin crossed the room in three steps and yanked the bottle from her hand. “Enough!”

Abra flinched. “Are you worried there won’t be enough left for you?” She’d go back to her room if he wasn’t blocking her way. She pushed trembling fingers through her matted hair. Her head pounded a hard drumbeat. Lack of food? Nightmares repeating, awakening her in a cold sweat?

The piano stood silent in the corner of the room, beckoning. She’d always been able to lose herself in music. She could close her eyes and play and pretend she was back in Mitzi’s living room. What would Mitzi think of her now? Abra went to the bank of windows and stared out at the street below. Cars passed by in both directions; people walked along. The world continued to tick.

She felt shattered inside, broken beyond repair.

Franklin came and stood right behind her. She could feel his pain, his yearning. He’d said he was sorry. And she knew he was sincere. He was deeply sorry Lena wasn’t acting the way he wanted anymore. She’d understood that night that he’d never wanted Lena
Scott to have a child. It spoiled the image in his mind of his perfect lover.

His hands gripped her waist. “Lena.” He sounded so wounded.

Unable to stand his touch, she jerked away and put a few feet between them. They might live together in the same apartment, but a yawning chasm separated them. “Don’t say anything, Franklin. Nothing you can say is going to make any difference.” It was too late for either of them to be sorry, too late to undo what had been done.

“You just need a little time to forget.”

Forget? Her guilt grew heavier every day. She was worse than her mother. Abra covered her face. At least her mother gave her a chance for survival.

“Lena . . .”

Why did I let Franklin walk me in that door? Why didn’t I run or fight? I just went like a sheep to the slaughter.

Franklin grasped her wrist and pulled her around. She thought for a moment he meant to pull her into his arms and soothe her. Instead, he held her wrists in an iron grip, staring in disgust at her hands. “You’ve chewed your nails to the quick.”

Of course, Lena would never do such a thing. Abra yanked free. If she’d had fingernails left, she would have clawed his face.

His expression changed. “I’m sorry. I spoke too harshly.”

Abra squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to see his pain. It had been his decision, hadn’t it? So Lena could keep dancing to his tune.
What have I done? Oh, what have I done?
She wrapped her arms around herself, breathing shallowly through the pain. What would Pastor Zeke think? And Joshua?
Oh, Joshua, if you could see me now.
A mocking tune played in her head. She’d burned the bridge to Haven long ago.

What did it matter? Joshua was probably married by now, to some nice girl who’d saved herself for her husband. And Pastor Zeke had a church full of parishioners and most of the town that loved him and called him friend. Neither would miss her. Would they even know
Abra Matthews had become Lena Scott? She couldn’t imagine either of them wasting time on the five lousy movies she’d made.

That old life in Haven seemed a halcyon dream now. She’d been such a fool. She’d turned her back on everyone just so she could be with Dylan. She’d awakened from that rosy dream in San Francisco, but still clung to him, hoping. When she moved in with Franklin, she’d signed her life away. She hadn’t realized he saw her as clay in his hands. He put her on a pedestal and began to reshape and remold her. He thought he was God.

Her stomach cramped with hunger. She hadn’t the willpower to starve herself. She found a box of cereal and week-old yogurt. The food tasted like sawdust mixed with sour cream. She swallowed bitterness and guilt.

Franklin poured himself a drink. Then another. After the third, he stopped looking sorry. “I did what I thought best for you.”

“Best? You buried our baby in the sand.”

He slammed the bottle on the counter. “It wasn’t a baby!”

“Only because you didn’t want her.” The same way Abra’s mother hadn’t wanted her.

Exasperated, Franklin came to the table. He yanked her chair around and knelt on one knee in front of her. “It wasn’t a
her
. It wasn’t a
him
. It was
nothing
.”

She leaned forward, her face close to his. “Just like
I’m
nothing! And
you’re
nothing! We’re
both
less than nothing now, aren’t we? And damned besides!” Franklin straightened and stepped away from her, his hand clenching into a fist. “Go ahead. Do what you want to do to me.” She lifted her chin, waiting, half-hoping for the blow. “Hit me if you think it’ll change the truth. Beat it out of me.”